


Trapped

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: #LetCrutchieSayFuck2K18, Abduction, Abuse, Blood, Child Abuse, I love him, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Hatred, Swearing, Violence, albert has really low self esteem, albert is a much larger character than i originally anticipated, albert is very overprotective, also sorry race, and crying, and lots of blood too, and right now im adding tags because im bored, but please read it anyways?, henry is awesome, it gets more sprace towards the end, its a sad fic, its super long, like i planned something its gonna turn out completely different, lots of swearing, oof sorry albert, race and albert are brothers in this, so uh this took an accidental dark turn, there will be focus on race and alberts brotherly relationship, theres another character i need to add to the tags but im not gonna cause spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-06-15 20:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 18,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You’re chokin’ ‘im, Morris.” Spot says, and I can tell he’s trying to hide the emotion from seeping into his voice. Morris relaxes his grip on my neck a little, but the position of his knife stays the same.





	1. Race's POV

**Author's Note:**

> Get ready for suffering!

“What the hell?” Spot says as our lips part. He is looking past the large pile of crates towards the entrance to the alley.

“What is it Spotty?” I moan, pulling him closer to me again.   


“Shhh.” Spot says, escaping my grasp. “Stay behind the crates.”   


“But-” Spot peeks out from the crates again before I can continue to protest.   


“Oh shit.” Spot says.   


“Whatcha doin’ out here all alone Brooklyn?” The voice of Morris Delancey asks.

“Oh but he ain’t alone, I heard another voice.” Oscar Delancey, his brother, remarks.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. We’re fucked.

“Ya must be hearin’ things, ‘cause I is alone. An’ why do you care why I’se is here? I’se is King of Brooklyn, I can go where I wants.” Spot retorts.

“Well how ‘bout we give ya a little gift ya send ya on your way?” Morris steps closer, and I hear his knuckles crack.

I can do two things. I can stay hidden like Spot told me to, or I can burst out and keep him from getting soaked. I choose option two.

Just as Morris and Oscar close in on Spot, preparing to strike at the same time, I step out from my hiding spot and stand next to Spot, my fists raised.

“Alone, huh?” Oscar smirks.

Spot glares at me.

“I reckon they’se queers, Oscar!” Morris grins.

“What has Kelly been teachin’ his boys?” Oscar says, shaking his head. I tighten my fists.

“Racer, get out of here.” Spot whispers to me.

“Shut up Spot.” I whisper back.

“You boys done?” Morris smirks.

“Which one d’ya want?” I ask Spot.

“I’ll take Os.” Spot cracks his knuckles.

“Alright.” I pull a cigar out of my pocket and place it in my mouth. “So uh, Mo, are you gonna punch first, or am I supposed ta punch first…?” I ask. I figure making a joke can’t turn out too badly. I was wrong. Morris lunges at me, and I duck out of the way.

“You’se is goin’ first then.” I comment. I aim a kick at his legs, and he stumbles a bit. I see Spot punch Oscar and cheer for him in my mind. However, while I’m distracted, Morris grabs my shirt collar and shoves me against the wall, his thick fingers wrapping around my neck, blocking my airway. My feet dangle uselessly above the ground. I try aim a punch at him from my horrible vantage point, but the angle and lack of oxygen causes my arm to just flail around a bit. I think it can’t get any worse until I see Morris whip out his silver switchblade and place it directly against my throat. The cold metal presses into my skin, and I wince a little.

“Let go of my brother or I slit his throat.” Morris says in a voice almost as cold and biting as his knife. Spot lets go of Oscar’s arm, his face turning white. I can’t breathe.

“You’re chokin’ ‘im, Morris.” Spot says, and I can tell he’s trying to hide the emotion from seeping into his voice. Morris relaxes his grip on my neck a little, but the position of his knife stays the same. I can breathe a little easier though, so I guess that’s good.

“Now listen, Brooklyn.” Oscar says in a threatening tone. “You’re gonna do what we tell ya. Ya got that?” Spot nods slowly, his eyes fixed on me. “Good.” Oscar says. “Now, you’re gonna go to the Manhattan Lodging House, and you’re gonna tell Kelly that either he gives us what he owes us, or …” Oscar trails off and motions to Morris, who strokes the knife along my face. It’s not hard enough to draw blood, but the feeling leaves me anxious and jittery.

“And why would I do that when I can kick your asses myself?” Spot cocks an eyebrow and crosses his arm. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He always does that when he’s nervous.

“Because if you so much as take one step towards either of us, we will not hesitate to kill your boyfriend.” Morris presses the tip of my knife into my throat again, and I can feel how close it is to drawing blood.

“Fine.” Spot says tightly.

“Good. Now you’se is gonna leave now, okay, Brooklyn?” Oscar drawls.

“I’ll get you assholes back for this.” Spot glares at the Delanceys before leaving. He doesn’t glance back at me.


	2. Spot's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot goes to talk to Jack.

“Kelly! Open up!” I shout through the door of the Manhattan Lodging House, banging on it as I yell.

“What is it, Spot?” Jack asks exasperatingly, opening the door. “It’s almost ten! An’ where’s Racer?”

“That’s why I’se here.” I say gravely. I feel a tight knot start to form in my throat. I swallow hard. I can’t look weak in front of Jack Kelly.

“What did ya do ta ‘im?” Jack demands, grabbing my shirt collar and pulling me off the ground. I shove him away.

“Ya think I would hurt ‘im? It was the Delanceys. They found us, but…” I stop talking, because I can feel the tears stinging my cheeks. “Fuck!” I exclaim, wiping my face off with my tanktop.

“Spot. What happened.”

“They took ‘im. They took ‘im, Jackie. They said- they said if ya don’t give them what ya owe them they’ll-” I can’t say it out loud. I can’t. Saying it out loud would be admitting that this is actually happening. That this is actually real.

“What are they gonna do ta him?” Jack’s voice is quiet and razor sharp.

“They’re gonna kill ‘im, Jack!” I manage to choke out through a sob.

“The bastards!” Jack slams his fist against the door.

“What do ya owe them that made ‘em kidnap Racer?” I demand, now suddenly angry that this is because of Jack.

“Nothin’!” Jack raises his hands in surrender. I raise my eyebrows. “Unless they’se mad that their pay got rolled back when we won the strike…” Jack muses.

“Sounds like somethin’ they’d be upset about!” I put my face in my hand.

“We’ll get ‘im back, Spot.” Jack puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. I look up at him in surprise.

“Don’t get too soft wit’ me. Besides, why should I care so much? I ain’t ‘Hattan.” I shove him away, putting my wall back up.

“Spot, don’t pretend like ya don’t care ‘bout Racer. It’s okay. I understand.” Jack says.

“Whatever.” I huff. “Now ya gonna invite me inside so we can make a plan?”


	3. Race's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter, also, sorry for how this chapter ends

I wake up to a swift punch in the face, and upon opening my eyes, I see it has been delivered by Oscar Delancey. Why is he here? Also, where is here? I look around, trying to take in my surroundings, and the events of last night (Tonight? How long have I been unconscious?) come rushing back. The Delanceys finding me and Spot, me and Spot fighting the Delanceys, Morris pulling a knife on me. And then Spot left. And then… it’s all sort of fuzzy. But now that I’m awake, I need a plan. Spot supposedly went to tell Jack that he needs to give the Delanceys what he owes them (whatever that means), but who knows when, or if, Jack will come. I need a plan, just in case. I suppose I should figure out what I’m dealing with first. I look down and realize I’m tied to a hard wooden chair. Okay. There are ropes securing my ankles, calves, and torso to the wood. My hands are tied together behind me. Whoever tied me up made sure the ropes were tight, and they are digging into the bruises already forming on my skin, along with old scars. Oscar is standing in front of me, grinning an evil smile, and I decide I should probably deliver one of my classic one-liners to wipe that smug grin off his face. I open my mouth, but discover a strip of fabric is secured in it, fastened in by more rope, effectively gagging me.

“Comfortable, Racer?” Oscar sneers. I glare at him.

“Perfectly.” I say, but being gagged, it just sounds like, “Bleghemgy.” Oscar smirks.

“We got a surprise for you, Higgins.” Oscar drawls, playing with his brass knuckles, slipping them on and off of his fingers. “Ya see, when our pay got rolled back, we knew we was gonna get revenge on Kelly for starting his strike, but things are turning out much better than we planned. Not only do we get revenge on Kelly, we get revenge on you for every snide remark and fight you’ve given us, an’ we get ta help out an old friend.” I roll my eyes, but really only not to give Oscar the satisfaction of knowing I’m afraid.

“Morris? Would ya like ta show our friend in?” Oscar calls. Morris enters the room from a doorway I hadn’t even seen before, and I’m confused. Who is Oscar talking about?

“It’s been a long time, Blondie.” A familiar voice drawls.

No. Not him again. Not again! Why is he here? How is he here? I struggle against my bonds, trying desperately to free myself. I have to get out of here. I have to warn Jack.

Warden Snyder steps into the room, an evil smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy this little cliffhanger! it physically pained me to write this, and i had no clue i was gonna take the story here until i was writing it, but i plan on updating again soon!


	4. Albert's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert tries to deal with his emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for this chapter being so short writing this is very emotionally draining

“They did what?” I demand, probably way too close to Spot’s face than is safe.

“Calm down, Red.” Spot pushes me away a bit less than lightly.

“No! You promised you would keep Race safe, and the Delanceys kidnapped him on your watch! And they’ll kill him if Jack doesn’t give them money he doesn’t have!” I shout.

“Al, it’s not Spot’s fault. It sounds like they was gonna try an’ get ‘im anyways.” Jack puts a hand on my shoulder. I flinch away at his touch.

“Al, are you-” Jack starts to ask.

“I’se is fine. I just need some air.” I get up and leave the bunk room. I climb up onto the fire escape and sit down, letting the cool night air sting my face. I reach into my pocket and pull out a cigar, one I stole from Race just this morning. I sigh and light it, placing it in my mouth. Race says smoking helps him clear his head, so maybe it will help me clear mine. I exhale the smoke, watching as the grey rings disperse into the night. I think back to what just happened. I probably shouldn’t have yelled, but I’m just so worried about Race. He means everything to me, he’s my brother, and I can’t stand to lose him.

“You okay, Al?” Crutchie asks, sitting down next to me on the fire escape. I didn’t even hear him climb through the window.

“What do you think?” I ask sarcastically.

“Sorry. I mean, it’s obvious you’re not, but I guess it’s just sort of habit to ask first.” Crutchie fiddles with one of the buttons on his vest.

“It’s fine.” I sigh, taking another drag on the cigar.

“Back in the Lodging House, with Jack. That hasn’t happened in a while, has it?” Crutchie comments.

“It hasn’t.” I confirm. “Don’t know why it did happen. I haven’t been sensitive to touch in ages.”   


“Do you have any idea why it happened?”

“I think it’s ‘cause of Racer. When I was in the Refuge, we was there togethah for part of the time. Those memories, they’se is all linked ta Racer. Ta bein’ wit’ ‘im, ta bein’ wit’out ‘im.” I explain. I exhale smoke again. I don’t know why I’m pouring out all my feelings, but it’s helpful. “I jus’ don’t want ‘im ta get hurt again!” A sudden burst of emotion causes my voice to raise again. I breathe in deeply, the smoke from the cigar being strangely comforting.

“I get it.” Crutchie says. He doesn’t pat me on the shoulder, like most fellas would. He knows. He gets it.

“Thanks Crutch.” I lean my head onto his shoulder and stare out at the twinkling stars. “I’ll get ya back, Race.” I whisper to the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another update on race coming soon!


	5. Race's POV

I don’t know if I should be grateful for the gag or not. On the good side, I know I won’t seem weak by screaming. On the not so good side, I can’t talk at all. Cocky lines and fake confidence is how I’ve managed to survive living on the streets as a newsie for almost 16 years now. Then again, every single time I’ve ever opened my mouth in front of Snyder has ended in pain.

And yeah, Snyder. How is he here? He’s supposed to be in jail. Maybe the Delanceys found a way to bail him out? Whatever the case may be, he’s here and I’m screwed. Snyder loves torturing me. Not as much as Jack, but I think one of the joys for him of torturing me is that it tortures Jack too, in a way. And now he’s going to use me to get his revenge on Jack. And the Delanceys will probably hand me right over to him too if Jack manages to pay them back whatever he owes them.

“Oh, this’ll be fun, Blondie.” Snyder says, the sadistic smile still on his lips. He steps closer to me, and I fight with every fiber of my body to free myself from the ropes, but to no avail. “Oh, you’re not gettin’ away from me so easy this time.” 

I shut my eyes, wishing for it all to be just another nightmare. I’m going to wake up anytime now, screaming, waking up nearly everyone in the Lodging House, but then I can go up to the rooftop and smoke, and Albert will be there, and Jack will be there, and Crutchie will be there, and Spot will be there, and everything will be alright again.

I scream. I scream as loud as I can into my gag, my eyes still shut tight, and when I stop screaming and open my eyes again I’ve actually convinced myself I’ll be back in the Lodging House.

I’m not.

Snyder is still standing right in front of me, smirking, the Delanceys are behind him, sneering, and I’m just a rat in a trap.

Tied to a chair, useless.

A tool.

That’s all I am, really.

A tool for the Delanceys to get back at Jack.

A tool for Snyder to get back at Jack.

This was never about me, was it?

It was never about me and Spot.

It was about Jack.

Because it’s always about Jack.

 

Except it’s not  _ just _ about Jack.

Because the Delanceys would have taken Katherine or just some other newsie they don’t even know the name of if it was just about Jack.

Because Jack cares about everyone and they know it.

The Delanceys wouldn’t have cared who they took, as long as they got paid.

No, they chose not me just because of the emotional strain it would put on Jack, because the Delanceys could have picked anyone for that.

They chose me because Snyder told them who to take.

And he remembered a blond boy that he had delighted in torturing, beating, soaking.

A boy that would always talk back.

Fight back.

A boy he broke in too many ways.

Snyder has a plan.

I just need to figure it out.

“Does Jack know I have him?” Snyder turns away from me and addresses Oscar and Morris.

Not we.

I.

Because Oscar and Morris are just tools too.

“We believe so, yes.” Morris says.

“Good. Move onto step two tomorrow, but for now, you’re dismissed. I want some alone time with Blondie.” Snyder waves away the Delanceys, and turns back to me, cracking his knuckles menacingly.


	6. Jack's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack talks to the Delanceys, they raise the stakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so short i just needed a bit of filler before adding another race chapter

The morning seems to fly by in a blur. I wake up the fellas, we get breakfast from the nuns, and we go to the Distribution Center to buy our papes, but I feel like I’m on autopilot. Because Race isn’t here to make jokes and tease the Delanceys. Race isn’t just around the corner, twirling a cigar around in his fingers and making up a headline to sell a pape. Race isn’t here and it’s because of me. I sell my papers a lot slower than usual today, so when I go back to the Distribution Center to sell back my last two papes I’m alone. Only the Delancey brothers are at the window, so I assume Weasel either went home early or is deeper inside. I hand my two papes to Oscar, and he takes them while Morris hands me my change.

“I notice Racer didn’t sell today.” Oscar says, grinning at me. I glare at him.

“Is he sick?” Morris asks with mock concern.

“Oh I think ya know very well where Race is.” I growl. “Care ta enlighten me?” Oscar and Morris only laugh.

“For a price.” Oscar says.

“How much?”

“5 dollars.”

“How ‘bout instead I beat the shit out of you’se an’ ya tell me where ya got ‘im?”

“Only if ya want ‘im dead.”

  
“You’se is low, Delancey, but d’ya really wanna commit murder?”   


“We’se got a friend.” Morris says vaguely.

“Why are ya doin’ this? Murder jus’ for 5 bucks?”

“Revenge, Kelly.” Oscar snarls. “An’ we’ll keep takin’ ‘em until ya pay up.”

And with that, the brothers leave the window, leaving me staring at the coins in my hand, still processing the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the super short chapter! i promise the next one will be nice and long!


	7. Race's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a long chapter, this is definitely one of the more violent ones of this fic, it hurt me to write this, but here you go.

“Don’t try to escape. It’ll only make things harder.” Snyder warns, taking another step closer to me. He pulls out a knife, and I’m afraid he’s going to just get it over with and kill me right now. I flinch as he moves the knife closer to me, but he’s only cutting away the ropes. Because with me untied, it’ll be easier to torture me. I start to formulate a plan in my head. Plan 1, I will call it, because Plan A will imply only 26 plans will be made. I have a feeling there will be more than 26. The essence of Plan 1? When Snyder unties me all the way, I run. I run as fast as I can, as far away from here as I can. Wherever here is. The ropes fall loosely around me, and I don’t even pause to rub at my bruised and bloodied wrists. I stand up, feeling suddenly rushing back into my legs, and I run. My ankles hurt from the ropes, but I shake off the pain and keep running. My name is Race, after all. I sprint past the surprised Snyder through the door. Step 1 achieved. I keep sprinting, down a hallway, down some stairs, not even looking at my surroundings. I just need to get out. And now I am. I’m standing outside, and I can see the sun rising. I blink a few times, trying to let my eyes adjust after the darkness of the room I had been kept in. But I need to keep going. I need to find out where I am and then find my way to the Lodging House. So... where am I? I turn around to see if I can recognize the building I just ran out of.   
It’s the Refuge.   


And Snyder is coming out of the front door.   


I know I need to run, but I can’t.   


I’m frozen.

Stuck.   


This happens sometimes, where I get so nervous I can’t move, but it can’t happen now.   


Because right now I need to run.   


I need to get away.

But I can’t.

Because I’m frozen stuck, my hands are shaking and my head is aching.

I can feel the blood pumping through my veins, fast and frightening, and it makes me want to run but I just can't.

And Snyder simply saunters up to me and grabs a fistful of my hair, dragging me by my curls back into the Refuge.

The place that has haunted my nightmares for years and years.

The place that should be closed.

The place I never thought I would have to step foot into again.

He drags me back down through the Refuge, and I wonder why I didn’t recognize the room I was in before. It’s as if Snyder can read my mind, because that’s what he starts telling me about.

“I had the Delanceys put you in one of my spare rooms, but I think I’ll have you back in the basement for a bit before taking you back there. It seems you’ve forgotten all of your lessons.” He says maliciously. I flinch at the mention of the basement. That’s where all the worst beatings are delivered.

He opens the all too familiar door and shoves me down the all too familiar steps.

The basement is just as dark as it always has been.

Snyder throws me onto the dirty floor unceremoniously, and I stand up, not wanting to be looked down upon.

“Are you really going to go through this again?” Snyder sighs, cracking his knuckles. “You can fight as much as you want, but I still will break you.”

“You’ll never break me. Not again.” I try to stop my voice from shaking, but I know I must sound weak.

“Oh, Blondie, I can break you faster than you can call for your precious Jack Kelly for help.” Snyder smirks. I raise my fists, wanting to at least put up a fight. Snyder slips on his brass knuckles before lunging at me. He punches me in the face, and my head snaps back. I can feel blood flowing freely from my nose. I try to dodge his next blow, but he recovers quickly and swipes his cane at my legs. My ankle explodes in pain, and I stagger but manage to stay upright. I aim a punch at him and manage to get a good swipe at his cheek, but he only laughs and hits me again. I fall this time. The punches and kicks continue, and I curl in on myself to try and protect some inch of my body. I don’t know how long the beating goes on for, but I think I lose consciousness at some point because I wake up tied up in the original room. My head still hurts like hell, and I’m bleeding everywhere, but at least I’m not dead.

“Did you warn him?” I hear Snyder demand.

“Yeah.” Oscar replies. “D’ya want us ta take another now, or wait ‘til tomorrah?”

Take another?

_ Another? _

“No. That’s only ta make sure Kelly comes. If we take more, the bulls’ll find out what we’re up to. But makin’ Kelly think we’ll take more will make ‘im come faster.” Snyder says.

“You’re insane!” I shout. Snyder never bothered regagging me.

“Am I now, Racer?” Snyder drawls, moving towards me. “Am I insane? Insane for wanting a little respect from your generation?” At the word respect Snyder pulls a match out of pocket and strikes it, sending the small red tip aflame. “You walk around all day, cocky, thinkin’ you’se is better than everyone else. Stealin’, goin’ around like you’se is the king of New York. Walkin’ around wit’ your cigars like you isn’t jus’ some kid.” Snyder pulls a cigar out of his vest pocket and I know what he’s about to do. I still have the scars from my first stint in the Refuge. I pull against the bonds, hoping against hope that I can free myself.

I can’t.

It’s at this moment I realize that my hands are no longer tied behind my back, but to the arms of the chair, forearm up. Snyder puts the match to the cigar and blows it out. Then he begins.

Red nickel sized burn marks are haphazardly littered across my forearms, some overlapping the faded scars from years before. I wince every time Snyder presses the lit cigar onto my skin. He always holds the cigar there, letting me get used to the burning sensation before pulling it away again, leaving only a sting of pain and the scent of burning flesh. When he seems satisfied with my punishment, Snyder places the cigar on my skin one last time, twisting it around to snuff out the flame.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

But it’s not over.

Because why the hell would it be?

Snyder won’t stop until he breaks me.

He unbuckles his belt and pulls it out of the loops of his trousers, and I am not only reminded of my time in the basement years before, but of my father, drunk and enraged, my mother crying in the corner as he shouts insults and slurs at me, half in English, half in Italian.

I won’t scream.

I won’t beg.

I won’t make a sound.

I have to be strong.

“Boys.” Snyder says, motioning to the Delancey brothers. They come towards me, both grinning evil smiles, and I glare at them. Morris unties the ropes binding me to the chair, and I collapse out of it and onto the floor. I sit and rub my sore wrists for a moment, and then I realize I’m kneeling in front of Snyder. I bolt up immediately, despite the protests of my sore body. Morris grabs me immediately, to prevent me from running again, and Oscar takes the rope to bind my ankles together and my wrists together.

“Take off his shirt.” Snyder directs, stroking the leather of his belt. Oscar rips my shirt right off my torso, the fabric coming off in strips. “On your knees, boy.” Snyder says to me, venom in his voice. When I refuse to comply, Oscar and Morris shove me down painfully onto my knees.

“You’re dismissed.” Snyder says to the brothers. They leave.

Snyder walks around behind me, and I tense my shoulders, preparing myself for what’s to come. I steel myself. I can’t show any weakness at all, it will only encourage him.

I can’t let him break me.

Not again.

I count 20 lashes before losing track.

Each crack of the belt, each lick of pain across my back, they all make me want to scream in agony, call out for Jack, for anyone. The one thing that keeps me from crying out is Spot.

I imagine Spot in front of me, telling me to be strong.

His beautiful brown eyes, deep and complex, urging me to be strong for him.

_ You’ll make it out of this alive, Higgins _ , he tells me.

I miss Spot so much.

I miss sneaking across the bridge at night to see him, I miss our weekly poker games, I miss his lips on mine, his fingers in my hair, my arms around his waist. I miss his laugh, his voice, his rare smile. I stay strong for Spot, because I know he would stay strong for me.

Snyder finally finishes, and I can tell he’s upset.

“Maybe tomorrah I’ll get a reaction out of you, boy. Maybe I should have Oscar and Morris bring in another one of your pals after all…” He muses.

“No.” I choke out, my voice cracking.

“No?” Snyder asks. “Oh, but I don’t think you were in nearly enough pain tonight to convince me not to bring in more leverage. What about that red headed pretty boy you would always fight so hard to protect, or that weakling with the long name. Neither of them lasted long…” I wince at hsi mentions of Albert and JoJo. I can’t let him get them. “Or even that boy from Brooklyn.” I know Snyder can see my reaction, and I’m ashamed of it. He knows my weakness now. Spot. Spot Conlon, the most beautiful boy in New York.

I can’t let Snyder get him.

“Please…” I say, and my stomach curls up in shame.

“Begging now, huh?” Snyder smirks. “You’re weak, boy.”   
“I’m not.” I say, trying to strengthen my voice. I can’t be broken that easily. I can’t be. I can’t give him the satisfaction.

“We’ll see if that’s true in the morning.” Snyder scoffs, turning on his heel and leaving the room, dropping his bloodied belt beside me.

I lay on the cold hard floor, the ropes digging into my skin, my back and head both howling in pain, fearing for what will come tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only managed to write this by blasting The Bottom Line Reprise (Newsies), World Burn (Mean Girls), The Pitiful Children (Be More Chill), and The Story Of The Man In The Yellow Suit (Tuck Everlasting) into my headphones repeatedly.


	8. Race' POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was gonna make race's pov only every other chapter but then this happened so... sorry

I wake up still lying on the floor, wrists and ankles still bound together painfully. I can hear whispering from outside the doorway. And it suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t eaten in several days now. That’s probably not healthy, especially with all of the blood loss. There’s not much I can do about that though, except for complain. Which, now that I think about it, actually might work.   


“Morris!” I shout as loud as I can. An exasperated Morris comes into the room, looking annoyed.   


“What?” He asks, his tone harsh.   


“I’m hungry.” I would cross my arms if I weren’t tied up, but all I can manage is putting on the most obnoxious face possible.   


“Well, gee, that sucks.”   


“Bring me food.” I demand.   


“That ain’t happening. You ain’t the boss of me.”   


“I want a sandwich.”   


“No.”   


“I want a sandwich!”   


“How about a knuckle sandwich?” Morris pulls me up by my hair and punches me in the face. And then the stomach. Over and over again. I gasp in pain, trying to breathe, but the barrage of punches just keeps coming. He drops me on the floor, and I curl in on myself, Morris’s kicks raining down upon me.

“Knuckle… sandwich… was… one of… your… worst… lines…” I manage to choke out between hits.

“Step back, Delancey, I don’t want you to have all of the fun.” From my position on the floor I see Snyder enter the room yet again. Morris leaves the room again, glaring at me, and Snyder takes up his position.

“I will break you, boy. Just as I did before.” He growls.

I spit blood at his shiny black shoes, splattering red droplets on the leather surface. He glowers at me in disgust.

“Let’s see if you’ve learned your lesson from last night, Blondie.” I hate the emphasis on the nickname.

“My name is Race.” I try to sit up, but being tied up, it’s kind of difficult to manage. I’m only able to flop around on the floor a bit.

“Pathetic. I will break you, boy. It’s only a pity Kelly isn’t here to see.” Snyder cracks his knuckles.

“You can’t break me.” I say defiantly.

“Oh but I can. Bring him in!”

Oscar and Morris enter the room, holding a struggling figure with a pape sack over his head. They shove the figure into the chair, my old chair, and quickly bind him to it. They pull off the sack and reveal a pale face with bright red hair.

Albert.

“No!” I scream.

I can’t help it.

“Don’t hurt ‘im! Ya can’t!” I pull my wrists away from each other, trying desperately to free myself from the ropes, but as always, it does nothing.

“Shut him up.” Snyder flourishes his hand at the Delanceys, and Oscar comes over, bending down to my face. He rips off a strip of my pant leg and stuffs it in my mouth, effectively gagging me. I scream against the fabric, I scream until my throat is raw.

I can’t let him hurt Albert.

Not again.

“You’re weak.” Snyder scoffs, kicking at me. “Just like Kelly. No self-preservation, but when it comes to your friends…” He strolls over to Albert and grabs his face. Albert tries to move away, but Snyder only tightens his grip.

“Why don’t you give Blondie here a better view? He wouldn’t give me a reaction last night, but let’s see about now.” Snyder drawls, his voice laced with poison.

Oscar pulls me up by my forearm, gripping it tightly.

I try to turn my head away from Albert, I don’t want him to see the tears running down my cheeks, and I definitely don’t want to see what Snyder is going to do to get a reaction out of me, to break me, but Oscar grabs a fistful of my hair with the other hand and forces my head to look forward.

Snyder pulls out his switchblade, flicking it open in Albert’s face, leaving the tiniest scratch and streak of blood, and I scream into my gag again.

I scream curses and prayers, pleas and promises.

“I don’t suspect he’ll last long.” Snyder muses, more to himself than anyone else, dragging the blade lazily down Albert’s cheek, leaving a shallow cut stretching from his temple all the way down his cheekbone to his chin.

I shout as loud as I can into the fabric blocking my mouth, but Albert doesn’t make a sound.

He’s not gagged, but he just sits there silently.

I can see the pain is his eyes though.

His eyes are what give the act away.

I see the pain, the loss, the sorrow, the regret.

His eyes are what I cry for.

I cry for his eyes that are always so joking, so full of light and happiness, his eyes that are now flecked with tears he’s trying to hold back, bloodshot from lack of sleep, and full of pain.

I manage to spit the gag out, the wet and bloody fabric landing on the floor.

“Let ‘im go! He don’t deserve this!” I shout, tears now readily streaming down my face and spattering on my clothes, mingling and mixing with the blood stains.

Snyder only smirks and moves the blade to Albert’s arm. He slices down it, leaving a long trail of blood, and I see Albert wince. Snyder does the same motion on his other arm.

“Stop!” I scream, my voice breaking. “Please!”

The please is what gets him.

It was what he wanted the whole time.

Because the please is a sign of weakness.

Snyder takes his blade away from Albert’s skin and walks over to me, slowly.

“Would you rather it be you?” Snyder asks quietly.

“Yes. Please. Anything. Just please don’t hurt him.” My voice is quiet, pleading. I feel dirty for begging, and I know I’m just giving in, but I can’t bear seeing Albert hurt.

“Really? Because I seem to recall that last night you said you couldn’t be broken? Shall we put that to the test?”

“Please, just don’t hurt him.” I choke out through a sob.

“Racer, don’t. I’se is fine.” It’s the first thing Albert has said since being brought in.

“I’se is sorry, Al. Jus’- promise ya won’t look.” My voice is low and regretful, but I know Albert can hear every word.

“How touching.” Snyder rolls his eyes. He drops his knife on the floor, picking up his belt from the night before instead. Oscar shoves me down onto my knees, and then takes his place next to his brother behind Albert’s chair. I swear he looks sick.

Snyder steps around behind me, just to make sure Albert can see my face.

I look away in shame.

The belt slices into my back, opening the newly formed scabs from the night before, and I hiss in pain, repressing my scream from instinct.

“Have you learned nothing?” Snyder asks, as if I’m a small child he’s trying to teach the alphabet to.

“I’se is sorry.” I hang my head in shame.

Snyder cracks the belt against my bare back again, and this time I do scream, rage spilling into my voice, the sound echoing through the walls.

“Much better.” I can’t see Snyder’s face, but I know he must be grinning.

I glance up and see Morris keeping Albert’s face pointed at me, his eyes lock onto mine, and I know how weak my sad little smile I muster up must look to him.

“Don’t do this, Tony.” Albert says, and I look down again.

Each lash brings more pain, more screams, and more tears.

I’m weak.

Just like my father would always tell me, just as Snyder tells me now, just as Albert’s eyes say, I’m weak.

When Snyder finally finishes with me, I’m lying in a small puddle of blood.

I am sickly reminded of my previous times in the Refuge.

Snyder drops his belt at my feet and leaves the room. The Delanceys follow him.

Albert and I are alone.

"I'se is so sorry, Al." I sob, repeating the phrase over and over again, just like a broken record.


	9. Albert's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter i just needed a bit of albert

“They said what?” Spot demands, his face growing redder by the second.

“You heard what I said, Spot.” Jack says sadly, putting his head in his hands.

“Damnit Kelly!” Spot shouts, slamming his fists against the wall, the loud bang echoing through the room.

“Calm down, Spot.” Davey says, his voice calm as usual.

“Because everyone knows telling someone to calm down always makes the person calm down.” Crutchie says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Can everyone just be quiet for one minute?” I ask, running my hands through my hair. I have a pounding headache, and all of the shouting is only making it worse. I don’t know what cause my massive headache, maybe the stress, maybe the fact that I’ve been smoking Race’s cigars nonstop since he disappeared, but whatever it is, I don’t know how to get rid of it.

“Sorry that us tryin’ ta think of a plan ta save Racer is so inconvenient for ya!” Spot yells in my face. I wince from the noise.

“Ya know what? I ain’t puttin’ up wit’ this anymore. I’se is gonna go find ‘im myself.” I stand up from my chair and leave the Lodging House, not even sure where I’m going. I walk through the streets, down alleys, across corners, just sort of wandering. I stop suddenly not sure why and finally look up from the ground.

I’m standing in front of the Refuge.

I guess my brain brought me here by instinct, it’s an abandoned building, and I suppose the Delanceys might think this the best place to keep Race. But do I dare go in?

Turns out I don’t have to make up my mind.

“Guess we didn’t have ta go lookin’ Oscar, one of ‘em came right ta us!”

I whip around, finding myself face to face with the Delancey brothers. I guess I wasn’t wrong about them taking Race to the Refuge, then.

“Came ta see Racer, didn’t ya?” Morris asks.

“Yeah, I did. Now we can do this the easy way, an’ ya can let ‘im go now, or we can do this the hard way, an’ I can soak both of you’se an’ go in an’ get ‘im myself.” I warn, cracking my knuckles. Even the small sound hurts my head. I seriously need to figure out a better way to solve my problems than smoking.

“Now ain’t that what Brooklyn said?” Oscar cocks an eyebrow. I lunge at him.

My punch unfortunately never lands, because thanks to my pounding head, I didn’t notice Morris slip away and come around behind me. A rough fabric is pulled over my head, blocking my whole face, and I stumble, more confused than scared. I flail my arms around, trying to hit at least one of the brothers, but to no success. I’m about to scream, but then I feel a hard knock on my head and everything turns black.

  
********  
  


“Go see what he wants.” A rough voice growls. I hear footsteps moving away from me. There are rough hands gripping my arms, pinning them to my sides. I recognize the voice, but I don’t know from where. I can hear voices from far away, but they sound fuzzy and muted.

I can’t breathe. There is a thick piece of cloth surrounding my face, and it is blocking my nose and mouth.

“Can’t… breathe…” I choke out. Hopefully my captors will hear and decide they don’t feel like suffocating me.

They don’t.

The cloth is pulled off of my head, and I see two blurry figures standing in front of me. I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the lighting. The two figures prove to be Oscar Delancey and… oh shit.

Warden Snyder.

I’m allowed a few seconds of air, just long enough to gasp in shock, before my head is once again smothered.


	10. Albert's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short and a bit of filler, i promise next chapter there will be more plot

“I could really use a smoke right about now.” I say mildly.  Race doesn't say anything, he stopped apologizing ages ago, he just looks down at the floor. I decide to continue talking, because obviously he isn’t going to anytime soon. “I can’t help it, Racer. Ya got me hooked on the things.” I shrug my shoulders, but oh right, I forgot, this isn’t a normal friendly conversation at the Lodging House, we’re both kidnapped, I’m tied to a chair, Race is tied up on the floor, and I can’t shrug my shoulders because not only are my arms tied to aforementioned chair, but they are also bleeding uncontrollably from long cuts running down them. “Besides, it’s better ta think ‘bout cigars than this horrible shitshow.” I add.

“Spot misses ya, ya know. He’s been stayin’ late at the Lodging House jus’ so he can yell at Jack an’ me every day. Kinda annoyin’, his face gets real red when he’s angry, but other than that ya got good taste.” Is this a good thing, that I’m continuing to talk to him? God, I wish Jack were here. He would know what to do. The only thing I have going for me is that I’m his annoying best friend. Even Spot would be a better help than me.

“Ya got a real annoyin’ voice, ya know that?” Oscar drawls, stepping back into the room.

“Shouldn’t ya be gettin’ your beauty rest?” I tease. If Race won’t deliver his cocky one-liners, I guess it’s up to me.

“Aw, shut up!” Oscar drawls, strolling over to me and punching me in the gut. I inhale sharply, drawing in my breath to prevent myself from yelling.

“I’se real flattered, Os.” I cough.

“Jus’ like Racer.” Oscar shakes his head and surveys me with a look of pity. “You an’ your big mouth.” He chuckles a bit at his next words. “An’ look what Snyder did ta ‘im. Can’t wait ta see how he straightens you out.”

“Stop!” Race shouts suddenly, his eyes screwed shut. I wince at the pain in his voice.

“D’ya really wanna be doin’ this, Oscar? I know you’se is a bad person, but c’mon? Kidnapping? Torture? Murder?” I ask. Maybe I can guilt him into letting us go. He only turns on his heel and leaves the room.

“Well he’s a real downer.” I comment lightly to Race. Because I don’t know when to shut up. Because I decide to ignore the gravity of the situation, attempt to forget the years of trauma, not only here in the Refuge but before that, at home, and glaze over the thing I’ve been blocking from resurfacing into my mind since Specs and Jack half carried me back to the Lodging House after breaking me out of the Refuge. Because I’ve never chosen to confront the memories, the feelings, I’ve never been able to open up about my past. No, I’d much rather keep it in, not think about it at all, not show anyone how much I’m suffering inside, cover it all up with an act. Not unlike Race, I suppose. Not unlike any of my brothers if I think about it. Except at least my brothers talk to people about their problems, whereas I don’t talk at all. Not to a single person. We all cover our pain with smiles, but at least everyone has at least one other person who understands their burden. But I don’t share with anyone. I shove it all down, try to forget instead of let go. Probably not a healthy way to deal with my problems, but it’s not like I can start sharing now. Especially since Snyder is stalking back in, prepared to break Racer down into even more of an emotional wreck than he already is. And if we’re being honest, I’m not in very good emotional shape either. God, I wish Jack were here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think! your comments mean the world to me!


	11. Jack's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so late and kinda short! i lost my motivation for a bit, but i promise chapter 12 will be out soon.

“Jack, what can I do to help?” Katherine asks, sitting down next to Crutchie on my bedroll.

“I dunno.” I say for what seems like the thousandth time. Albert went missing yesterday, after he ran out of the Lodging House, and I feel like such a failure. Spot has been coming here every day to try and help plan, but we still don’t know what to do.

“Can we tell the police?” Davey asks.

“The bulls won’t care ‘bout a few kids goin’ missing. It happens every day, an’ they’se orphans so they’ll care even less.” Crutchie says, his voice sad.

“I say we find out where they got ‘em, an’ we fight ta get ‘em back.” Spot says gruffly, cracking his knuckles.

“Where would the Delanceys have taken them?” Katherine asks. Crutchie and I look over at each other and speak at the exact same time.

“The Refuge.”

“Why there?” Katherine asks.

“It’s an abandoned building. No one goes there anymore.” I explain.

“It’s worth a shot.” Davey says.

“Then let’s go right now.” Spot makes a move towards the ladder.

“Nah, Spot, we can’t go now. We’se all gotta rest. Tomorrah, at lunch time, we all go an’ check it out. Make sure we’se got enough fellas ta hold off the Delanceys while we rescue Race an’ Al.” I say, although it pains me to have to put it off.

“If Racer-” Spot starts to threaten.

“Spot.” Davey says calmly, resting a hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder. It’s something no one but Race can do without getting soaked. I wince, ready for Spot to turn on Davey immediately, but he does nothing, only glares up at Davey.

“Fine.” Spot grumbles.

“Now make sure you all get sleep.” I say as Davey, Spot, and Katherine all descend the ladder, heading back to their respective homes. Crutchie starts to move over to his side of the roof, but I stop him.

“Crutchie, wait.”

“What’s up, Jackie?”

“Can ya- d’ya mind sleepin’ wit’ me t’night?” I ask, looking down at my feet with shame.

“No problem Jack.” Crutchie says kindly, shifting over so I can lay down next to him.

“Thanks.” I say quietly.

“Any time. G’night Jack.” Crutchie closes his eyes and drifts off. I try to do the same, but my mind just won’t let me. It’s comforting to have another warm body next to me, reminding me I’m not alone, but I still feel so empty. I’m a lousy leader, I really am. Letting my second and one of my boys both get kidnapped by the Delancey brothers, all because of me. I glance over at the tube I keep all my drawings in. Because what’s hidden at the bottom could save Race and Albert’s lives. Five dollars of savings. I want so desperately to give it to the brothers, just so mine can be safe, but I know I can’t. That would be basically telling Oscar and Morris they can do whatever they like with no consequences. That they can mess with Jack Kelly and get money out of it. I know it’s wrong, keeping the money, but yet I know it’s right, because it will only give in. And then more money will be demanded, over and over again, never stopping, until I can’t afford it anymore and someone actually gets killed. I can’t live with that.

I turn on my side, wanting to just turn off my brain and fall alseep. I try to think about something else, anything else, but the thought of my two brothers tied up in the Refuge keeps me from closing my eyes. Just when I feel like I’m finally falling asleep, I can already see the yellow glow of the sun starting to rise in the East.

So much for a good night’s rest.


	12. Race's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took me forever

Everything hurts. This honestly might be the worst pain I’ve ever been in in my life. There are many things that indicate how bad it is, too many to count probably, but let’s try anyways. It’s not like I have anything else to do.

  1. The blood. There’s a lot of blood, all over me, all over the floor, more blood than I’ve ever seen in my life. Blood is caked under my fingernails, matted in my hair, dripping from every surface of my body. It feels like the world is made of red.
  2. Albert. Albert sometimes looks over at me, and the look on his face shows me how bad I must look. The way he winces, the small loss of light from his normally ecstatic eyes, the way he looks down immediately, they all show he can’t even stand to look at my broken form. Or maybe it just means he hates me for getting him into this mess. He’s been talking to me, rambling probably, but I can’t even really hear him. I’m not sure why. Oscar comes in at some point and punches him a few times before leaving. Albert stops talking after that.
  3. The visions. I used to only see things in my nightmares. But now every waking second of my miserable life is occupied by ghosts of my past. I constantly see my father looming over me, his friends drunk and laughing, my mother huddled in the corner, crying for me but doing nothing. The images that would only plague the night now parade in the day, occupying my mind and invading my thoughts. Deep down I know it’s not real, I know it’s just the blood loss or the dehydration screwing with my head, but it seems so real. It seems so real so how can it not be?
  4. My back feels like it’s on fire. I can feel tiny pebbles on the ground digging into every cut, probably infecting the wounds. Not to mention the fact that all of my old scars have opened up again. I can feel every lash happening over and over again, a never ending punishment.
  5. My arms. The burns on my arms still feel fresh, as if they were just applied only seconds ago. The marks will stay forever and I know it.
  6. My wrists. I can feel the ropes digging into my my wrists, irritating the skin. Trying to escape the bonds only makes it worse, I’m getting rope burns and almost completely faded scars of handcuffs from years ago are being replaced with new ones.
  7. My ankles. I’m almost positive one of them is broken. Snyder stepped on my right ankle at one point, and it’s been broken and not healed properly before so I would bet anything it’s broken again. I heard the crack, I feel shooting pain in it just about every second, and I know it will never heal right.
  8. My head. Oh God, my head hurts. Words can’t even describe how much my head hurts. The headache feels like a dozen hammers pounding against my brain, shattering my skull, I just want it to be over.
  9. The coughing. When I was in the Refuge before, my coughs were short and plentiful, blood surfacing with each one. Now my coughs are long and raspy, deep and often. My throat burns from the strain, I can’t take any more of it. I haven’t had any water in who knows how long, my throat would be dry if I didn’t keep spitting out blood.
  10. I’ve lost everything. This isn’t a pain that is physical, but it still hurts too much to bear. I have nothing left. Snyder really has broken me this time. And there’s nothing I can do.



Well, that sure was a fun list to make.

I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Snyder just kill me now? It would affect Jack even more if he killed me right now. I’d be dead, Jack would be a mess, it would be everything he wants. But even that’s not fucking enough for him. He wants me begging on my knees for him to spare Albert, screaming and fighting, just so he can break me down even more and end it all with silence. The fear to open my mouth to even cry out, that’s what he wants. I’ve always been loud mouthed and cocky, and he wants to change that.

 

_ Quiet, boy! _

 

He wants to make me scream for mercy and then beat me for screaming.

 

_ Hold your tongue! _

 

And the only way to do that is through other people.

 

_ Do you really want him to get hurt? _

 

I have no self-preservation, just like Jack. But when the people I care about are involved…

 

_ This is for your own good. _

 

Death would be so much simpler, though. If he just let Albert go and killed me, just like that. No more pain, no more worries. Although that’s not what he’s going for. He can kill me later, but what’s the point if it’s fast, quick and painless? Relieving? No, he’ll break me down into a million pieces, and then simply throw the broken parts away.

And speak of the devil, here comes Snyder striding back in, grinning maliciously. I see Albert bite his lip nervously. I wish I were next to him, able to comfort him. I wish I were anywhere but here. Snyder stands in the center of the room for a moment, seemingly considering the display in front of him. Albert tied up in the chair, me tied up on the floor. He finally makes his decision and steps towards me. He grabs my face and lifts me off the floor. He stares at my face for a moment, examining the mix of blood, bruises, and tears splayed across it. He carries me with him as he crosses to the back of the room and drags another chair next to Albert’s. He shoves me roughly into it, and I don’t even have the strength to fight back as he cuts away the ropes binding my wrists and ankles and rearranges them so I’m tied to the hard wooden planking of the chair. Snyder paces in front of the two of us, slowly and deliberately.

“It’s been six days. Six days, and Kelly still hasn’t come. I say he needs a bit more motivation, don’t you? Now, I’m giving you boys a choice. I kill one of you now, whoever dies is your choice, or I take another one of your friends. I’m giving you one hour to decide. In one hour I will come back into this room, and you’ll tell me your decision. If you can’t come to an agreement, let’s just say I’ll have a bit of my own fun. Understand?” And just like that, Snyder leaves.

“Let him kill me.” Albert says almost immediately.

“Albert, no!”

“Race, it’s the only way. If he kills you, Spot will be devastated, and Jack won’t have a second. If we let Snyder take one of our other brothers, we’se only makin’ more people we love suffer. Who d’ya think he’d take, Racer? JoJo? Henry? Elmer? Crutchie? It could be anyone. An’ I can’t let that live on my conscience. “

“I’se not lettin’ ‘im kill ya, Al. God, I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”

“I’se jus’ bein’ realistic!” Albert defends. “D’ya honestly think anyone would care if I was gone? Sure, people might be sad for a few days, but there ain’t anyone out there that actually loves me.”

“What about me? You think I don’t care about you? We’se brothers, Albert, I don’t know what I’d do without you. An’ what about the fellas? Ya think they don’t care? Ya think Henry don’t love ya the way Spot loves me? Ya don’t think Crutchie would miss ya ta death if ya was gone? Or JoJo? Or Elmer, or Buttons, Romeo, Tommy Boy, Finch, everyone? Don’t pretend like it wouldn’t tear everyone apart ta know ya died jus’ ‘cause-”

“So you’se willin’ ta let Snyder hurt one of our brothers? What if he takes Boots, huh? Or Skittery? Or Les? What if he goes an’ takes a little who don’t know pain like we do, who don’t understand how to handle all of this shit? Someone who didn’t learn early ya shut ya mouth ta avoid beatings and scream ta make ‘em end?” I see Albert’s eyes welling up with tears, and I suddenly feel so trapped. There’s nothing we can do. Nothing at all. I miss Spot more than ever. He would know exactly what to do. He would hold me in his arms and kiss me and tell me everything will be fine and do the exact right thing.

“D’ya really think no one loves ya?” I ask Albert quietly.

“Yes.” Albert whispers back, Tears spill onto my lap, and I let them fall. Snyder does things to your head. He’s made Albert lose all hope. He’s made Albert believe no one cares about him. He’s made me scream and cry and beg. And now that he’s messed up our minds he’s making us choose something that can’t even be chosen.

He really is evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh i really don't like this chapter but chapter 13 will be up soon i hope


	13. Albert's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise albert is my favorite character

I don’t care what Race says.

I’ve made up my mind.

I have a vague formation of a plan I suppose, but I guess I should be thinking about my utter impending death. It’s strange, thinking that I might be dead in fifteen minutes. Or 12 hours. Depending on how things go. The fellas will mourn, sure, but they’ll move on fast. It’s not like I’m an important part of the Manhattan hierarchy. My only real status is being Race’s best friend. Everyone will be able to keep on going as usual with me gone, if it were Race no one would even be able to leave the Lodging House. He’s Jack’s second, the guy everyone loves, an important link to Brooklyn. He has a boyfriend, someone who cares about him more than anything in the world and is worried sick with him gone. I don’t have anyone like that.

Except Henry.

Race mentioned Henry earlier, saying he loves me like Spot loves him.

That can’t be true, can it?

I wish it were.

I wish more than anything in the world that Henry thought of me like that, but why would he? How can someone as perfect as him love someone as flawed as me?

I can see him clearly, standing right in front of me. Maybe I’m going insane, but I’ll be dead by tomorrow evening so I guess it doesn’t matter in the long run.

But I can see him so clearly.

His beautiful dark skin, slightly springy hair, deep brown eyes, and beautiful smile. He’s smiling at me, and I smile back.

Here I am, bleeding everywhere, grinning like a madman because I’m hallucinating a boy I’m hopelessly in love with. I’m suddenly sad, I wish I could have told him I loved him before I went and got myself kidnapped.

It’s interesting, the whole concept of love. How can I say I love Henry if I’m only admitting it to myself now? I think I’ve always loved him, loved him in a different way than my brothers. But it’s not like I live in a world where I can announce it from the rooftop. Although everyone seems to peg me for a queer anyway, so I don’t know why I bother hiding it. And I’m going to die anyways, so there’s even less reason to keep it a secret now.

“I’se gay, Race.” I say, my voice hoarse.

“What?”

“Jus’-I’se gay. Okay?”

“Why are you-”

“Made your decision, boys?” Snyder sneers, strolling back into the room. He looks so damn satisfied with himself, I want nothing more than to wipe that arrogant grin off his face.

It’s now or never.

“Yeah.” I say.

“Al-” Race says in a warning tone.

“You can kill me.” It’s a lot easier to say than I thought it would be, and Snyder actually looks shocked at first.

“Really?” Syder asks tauntingly, no doubt seeing the horrified look on Race’s face.

“Yeah. Jus’-not right now.”

“And why not? I said it’s either one of you dies now or another one of your friends comes in to join you.”

“I know, but I got a better plan.”

“And why should I listen?”

“Because I know Jack, an’ I know he wouldn’t leave Race here for over a week, an’ I know he’d be even more devastated if ya killed me soon as he came.”

“So you’re expecting Kelly to come tomorrow?”

“Yeah. An’ if ya want any sort of power over ‘im at all, ya kill me as soon as he shows up, let ‘im know you’se is pullin’ the strings.” I’m glad I’ll be dead soon, I hate every single word that is leaving my mouth. I sneak a glance at Race, but he refuses to look at me. I deserve that, I know I do.

“Alright, Pretty Boy. I’ll leave ya alive for now.” I wince at the derogatory nickname, a label that has haunted me for years. “But I think ya can afford a good soakin’. Wouldn’t you agree?” I cant tell if he’s addressing me or Race, but the ropes are suddenly being cut away, and I collapse onto the floor, every inch of my body screaming in pain. I don’t even bother standing up, I know I’ll only be shoved back down again.

I’m only conscious for the hits. Punches rain down upon me, and at a certain point my body starts going numb.

That’s his goal, I suppose. Beat me senseless until I can’t even feel anymore. I did ask for it, but only to stall my death for about a day more. Because if Jack does show up, Snyder will just kill me then. But for now it’s just a soaking, not murder, and I guess I should be grateful for that.

I think I might be blacking out.

Sounds are starting fade slowly away, I can no longer hear Race’s screams, or even my own. I can’t feel much either. I know I’m in pain, I just don’t feel it. I hope I’m only blacking out. I’ve mostly accepted my eventual fate, but I want to see Jack one last time before Snyder kills me. Although there are a lot of things I wish I could do before Snyder kills me.

Dying would just really suck right now.


	14. Jack's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a doozy
> 
> (spike is what i have decided to name anthony zas's brooklyn newsie in newsies live and y'all know who york is)

We all meet up at Jacobi’s at noon, me, Spot, Crutchie, Specs, Mush, JoJo, Blink, Henry, Katherine, Davey, Hot Shot, and two of Spot’s boys from Brooklyn.

“This is Spike and York.” Spot says, motioning to them. Spike and York nod curtly at me.

“So, what’s the plan?” Davey asks.

“We need a few people to go to the Lodging House and set up bunks and the med kit. Crutchie, Specs, that’ll be you two. We also need someone at the Lodging House to keep the littles upstairs. Henry,  you can do that. Katherine, I need ya ta get a camera an’ meet us at the Refuge. The rest of us’ll go to the Refuge. I’ll go in first, but you guys’ll follow after as backup. Got it?” I announce to everyone assembled. I see nods and hear mumbled “yes”es, but Crutchie scowls at me and pulls me aside.

“Really, Jack? Stay at the Lodging House to prep bandages? You know I can hold my own in a fight. In fact, I recall only last week savin’ ya from the Delancey bruddas.” Crutchie says.

“Crutchie, you, Specs, an’ Race are the only ones that knows how ta patch people up.” I say.

“Davey can too.” Crutchie argues. “Admit it, ya think I’se too weak ta be of any use.”

“Crutchie, that’s not why-”

“Then why, huh? It’s jus’ the Delanceys, I can-”

“I can’t lose ya again!”

“What?”

“I know ya can kick ass, but I jus’ can’t risk gettin’ ya hurt. An’ I don’t think goin’ back ta the Refuge will be such a swell idea for ya so soon.”

“Jack, I ain’t fragile. You’se not-”

“When ya got arrested, that was my fault. I coulda saved ya, but I didn’t. Ya got hurt, and it was my fault. I lost ya,  and I couldn’t do anything. I can’t lose ya again, Crutchie. You’se my whole world. I feel lost without you. I-”

Crutchie rolls his eyes, grabs me by my shirt collar, and crashes our lips together.

“Seems ta be the only way ta ever get ya ta shut up.” He says when we pull apart. “But, I’ll stay at the Lodging House I guess. I’ll be bitter and I’ll complain, an' you'll owe me a favor, but since ya asked so nicely…”

We bring our lips together again, and I want nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. Just me and Crutchie, nothing else to worry about in the world. But we pull away, there’s work to be done.

“Go save our brothers.” Crutchie whispers. I nod and head outside, where everyone else is assembled.

“Let’s go.” I say, and Spot leads our small group down the sidewalk.

“Jack.” Henry says, catching my arm. “Bring ‘em home safe, yeah?” His face is lined with worry, and my heart pangs a little.

“Al’s gonna be alright.” I assure him.

I pull Henry into a tight hug, and he buries his face in my shoulder.

“Jack!” Spot shouts from down the sidewalk.

Henry and I seperate, and I catch up with the group.

I look back at Crutchie, Henry, and Specs heading back to the Lodging House. Katherine is walking in the direction of The Tribune building.

“So you have an eyepatch too.” I hear Blink say, probably to York, who also has an eyepatch.

“I don’t like you.” I hear York reply shortly.

“Well I don’t like you.” I hear Mush counter.

“Can we focus, maybe?” I ask, turning to the bickering boys.

“Pull it together, York.” Spot commands.

The rest of the walk is silent, and no one speaks until we finally make it to the rotting brick building that haunts my nightmares to this day.

I thought I would never have to come back here.

_ You’re doing this for Race and Albert, Jack. Calm down. It’s just a building. And just the Delancey brothers. Snyder is in jail, nowhere near the Refuge. There’s no reason to panic. No reason at all. _

“I never thought I’d ever have to come back here again.” JoJo mumbles.

“I’ll go in first, so the Delanceys think I came alone. You can follow in a few minutes.” I say, going up the steps.

I put a reluctant hand on handle of the front door and pull. The door opens easily, and I cross the threshold.

The Refuge smells worse than it did last time I was in it, which is some kind of record I think.

_ Where would the Delanceys be holding them? An abandoned bunk room? Snyder’s old office? The basement? _

I decide to climb a flight of stairs, I’ll be sure to run into the Delanceys, right?

“Ya finally came.” A voice behind me muses. I whip around and see Morris and Oscar sneering at me.

“Where are Race and Albert.” I growl, clenching my fists.

“Right this way.” Oscar smirks. I have no other option then to follow the brothers down the hallway and up another flight of stairs before reaching a plain door. One of the extra empty rooms Snyder had for torture, if I recall correctly.

Morris pulls open the door, and I step inside a semi-dark room.

I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the new lighting, and move further into the room. Morris and Oscar are close behind me.

“Where are they.” I ask again, my voice low and dangerous.

“Jack?” I weak voice asks.

Race.

“Racer.” I exhale loudly. His voice sounds so small, and I strain my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of my second and little brother.

There are two chairs in the center of the room, one empty and tipped over, one with an occupant slumped over in it. I squint a bit more and see the bright blue eyes and know it’s Race.

He looks like a mess.

His normally blond hair is full of blood, his face is paler than normal, and he’s covered in blood and bruises. He’s tied to the chair tightly, I can see the ropes digging roughly into his skin. And he’s not wearing a shirt. I can see all of the long scratches on his bare stomach, still not faded from years before the Refuge, and I know the cuts that must be on his back are howling in pain from being pressed up against the back of the chair for who knows how long.

“Where’s Albert?” I ask, knowing the empty chair must hold the answer.

“The money first.” Oscar says, walking up next to me and opening his palm.

“Albert.”

“Or we could just kill him now.” Morris warns.

I shove my hand into my pants pocket and produce 3 crumpled bills and a handful of coins. I press it into Oscar’s hand, hoping that I can steal it back when we escape.

“Now let Race an’ Albert go.”

“Jack, we’d love ta, but we have another promise ta uphold.” Oscar says sweetly, clutching the money in his hand.  “Don’t worry though, we’se leavin’ ya in excellent hands.”

Before I can ask the meaning of this, Morris and Oscar disappear from the room.

I know the others will find them and soak them, and I relish in that.

But for now I have to worry about this third person the brothers keep mentioning.

“Where’s Albert?” I ask the dark void of the rest of the room. There’s a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, but it only sheds a small circle of light on the floor.

“Jack, ya gotta-” Race starts to say, but he starts coughing so forcefully he can’t even finish his sentence.

“It’s really been too long, Kelly.”

I don’t need to see the face to recognize the voice of Warden Snyder.

“You absolute-”

“I’d watch what you say, Jack.” Snyder warns, stepping into the light.

Oh God.

Tell me this is just a nightmare.

Tell me that I’ll wake up on the rooftop, tell me that Crutchie will be there to hold me and tell me that it’s okay, it’s not real.

I register Snyder’s thick fingers wrapped around Albert’s neck.

Albert is still breathing, I can tell that much from the rattling rise and fall of his chest, but his face is blue. His toes are barely scraping the floor, and his clothes are ripped beyond repair.

“Let ‘im go.” My voice is quiet but full of daggers.

“Oh but Jack, Pretty Boy and I made a deal. He said I could kill him as long as I waited until you showed up.” Snyder laughs, his face alight with malice and sadistic joy.

“Al, ya didn’t…” I look at Race to confirm, and I see tears sliding down his cheeks.

“What d’ya want from me?” My voice breaks hopelessly, there’s a tight knot stuck in my throat.

But I can’t cry.

Not now.

Later, on the rooftop, when Race and Albert are home safe and it’s just me and Crutchie together.

But now now.

“How should I kill him, Jack, huh? What do you think?” Snyder asks.

“Don’t!” I shout. “You can have me, jus’ let ‘em go. Torture me, kill me, do whatever ya want, jus’ let my brothers go! They ain’t done nothing!”

“How many lashes do you think it’ll take?” Snyder asks, ignoring my screams completely.

He shoves Albert onto the ground so he’s kneeling in front of him, facing me, and I fight back a sob.

_ He’s not being strangled anymore, Jack. That’s a good thing. _

“You like ta gamble Blondie. How long until he kicks it?” Snyder is pulling out his belt, releasing it from the loops,

“Don’t do this.” I plead. “Please, don’t.”

“Count for me, Jack, will you?”

The belt cracks in the air, and Albert screams in pain.

“Stop!” I yell.

“What number was that?” Snyder asks.

Another crack, another shout.

“What number, Kelly?” Snyder shouts. His eyes look mad, he’s completely unhinged.

Six more times this happens.

And then in the silence between there’s a shout from somewhere else in the building. There’s stomping around, and then Spot bursts through the door, the rest of our group clustered behind him. They all stop a few steps inside, taking in the scene.

Race tied up, Albert kneeling on the floor Snyder standing over him, and me standing in the center of it all.

“Ya bastard!” Spot shouts, ready to pounce. Spike pulls him back however, because Katherine is emerging from behind them with Darcy, who has a camera at the ready.

The flash is bright, but it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.

But in the midst of that moment of blinding brightness, there’s a bloodcurdling scream.

The worst thing I’ve heard all day.

When I finish blinking the bright spots out of my eyes, Snyder is gone. I don’t even have time to think about where he went because the source of that scream was Albert, and there’s a knife embedded deep into his shoulder.

I rush over to him, catching him as he collapses.

_He’s only unconscious_ _Only unconscious._

Mush, Blink, JoJo, and Katherine are at my side immediately, but I shoo them away.

I hold Albert in my arms, hoping no one can see the tears streaming down my face.

Race is bruised and tied up.

Albert is unconscious and bleeding all over the floor.

And I have no clue where Snyder went.

_ One problem at a time, _ _Kelly_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything is uphill from here, don't worry!


	15. Spot's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh i don't like this chapter and i don't like the way i'm writing spot but there ya go

We're still standing around outside the Refuge when Katherine and Darcy walk up to us.

“I have Darcy and a camera.” Katherine announces.

“Good.” Mush says.

“When do we go in?” Katherine asks.

A scream comes from the building, loud and piercing.

“Now.” I say, running towards the door and pushing it open. But I realize I have no clue where I’m going.

Another scream.

I run down a long hallway, peeking into every room I pass.

More screams.

There’s yelling now.

I run up a flight of stairs, following the sound.

And there’s the Delanceys, grinning and laughing.

They freeze when they see me.

I don’t.

I barrel full on towards them, rage filling my body.

I slam Morris against the wall, punching him furiously.

“This is for Race!” I shout, punching him again and then dropping him to the ground.

Oscar is on the floor behind me, JoJo standing over him.

“Jack gave ‘em money, right?” Blink says. JoJo leans down and reaches into Oscar’s pocket, producing a handful of cash and coins.

“Where’s Race?” I demand, shoving my boot onto Morris’s stomach.

“Upstairs.” He coughs. “Third door.”

And I’m off again, running up another flight of stairs, my feet pounding against the floor. I kick open the third door down the hallway and storm inside.

Race tilts his head up slightly, and I swallow hard, using rage as a cover for my sorrow.

Race is going to be fine.

I shouldn’t be sad, I should be angry at whoever did this.

And who did do this?

I take in the scene in front of me.

Race is tied up and shirtless, covered in blood and tears. His eyes look lost and hopeless.

Albert is kneeling on the ground, barely conscious and bleeding more than Race.

Jack is standing between them, his face torn.

And overlooking the whole scene is Snyder the Spider, a face I thought I’d never see again, looming over Albert, his belt in hand.

My heartrate is speeding, I’m ready to do whatever I have to to save Race, but Spike holds me back.

I’m about to snarl at him to let me go, but I see why he grabbed me in the first place.

Katherine and Darcy are here for a reason, and that reason is to make sure the police actually do something about this whole situation.

And there it is, the bright flash of the camera.

And along with it a rattling scream that breaks my heart.

If there was blood before, there’s a river of it now, all of it cascading from Albert’s shoulder, where a knife has been hastily lodged in the skin.

Snyder is gone, but there’s no time to think about that.

Jack is already holding Albert, and I rush over to Race.

I pull out my switchblade, the one I started carrying a week ago, and cut away Race’s bonds.

He falls out of the chair and collapses into my arms.

“It’s okay, Race.” I say. “It’s me it’s Spot, I’se here.”

“Spotty?” Race asks weakly, looking up at me.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I wipe the tears away from his face, leaving tracks of dirt and blood on his usually soft cheeks.

“Everything hurts.” He chokes out.

“I know, I know.” I croon, gently cradling his small body in my arms.

Race has always been skinny, but he hasn’t eaten anything in a week, and his ribs are sticking out slightly.

“Oh God, it’s so cold. I’m so fucking cold, Spotty.”   


“It’s okay, Racer. You’se gonna be okay. We’se gonna get ya all cleaned up.” I keep repeating, over and over again, not just trying to convince Race, but trying to convince myself too. He’s covered in blood. There’s blood dripping slowly from his mouth, and the bright red makes it look like he’s wearing lipstick. It would be almost funny if he wasn’t dying. I hoist Race up, swinging his arm over my shoulders, and see Jack lift the unconscious Albert into his arms bridal style.   


“We’se is gonna get ya home, Racer. You’se is safe. I got ya.” I say again.   


“Nah, I’se gonna die, Spot. I know I is.”   


“You ain’t gonna die. I’se gonna get ya outta here.” I help Race stumble along beside me as we head for the door. Jack follows, holding Albert gingerly in his arms, as if he’s made of glass.

Katherine and Darcy are already gone, probably to warn everyone at the Lodging House.

The walk back to the Manhattan Lodging House is mostly silent, occasionally punctuated with a whimper from Race or yelp from Albert in his sleep.

JoJo is talking to Albert, despite him being unconscious, and Mush, Blink, Davey, Spike, and York are walking in a square around us, like some sort of guard.

When we enter the Lodging House, Crutchie and Specs have already set up two beds, with a small med kit at the ready. I help Race onto one of the bunks, and he looks so small just laying there. He immediately soaks the blanket he is on in blood. Specs rushes over with a roll of bandages. I step back reluctantly, not wanting to leave Race but trusting that Specs knows what he’s doing. Jack sets Albert down gently on the other bunk. He goes to grab the handle of the knife, but Race suddenly cries out.

“Don’t touch ‘im!” Race shouts. I push past Specs so I can see him again. His eyes are shut tight, and he’s straining against invisible bonds.

“Hey, Racer, it’s okay.” I say soothingly. “You’se at the Lodging House.”

“Stop lyin’!”

“It’s me, it’s Spot.”

“Don’t hurt ‘im!’

“It’s Spotty.”

“Shit.” Jack says, moving away from Albert so he can be in front of Race. I step back so he can kneel in front of his bunk.

Jack is whispering things, whatever he’s saying is a mystery to me, but I can’t help but feel useless.

I’m Race’s boyfriend, I’m supposed to be the one able to calm him down from anything.

But all I can do is stand aside and let Jack help him.

I haven’t been with Race in a week, I’ve missed him so much, I’ve been longing to see him again, be with him again, cuddle with him again.

But he won’t even let me near him without screaming.

I look away from him, instead focusing my gaze on where Crutchie and Davey are discussing what to do about Albert.

“We can’t pull it out, it’s the only thing keeping most of the blood in his body.” Davey says.

“We have to pull it out. That knife could be rusty, we don’t want ‘im gettin’ some sorta disease. He’s already got such a bad fever.” Crutchie replies.

“Spot, come here.” Davey says. I walk over and join the two in front of Albert’s bunk.

“Whadda ya need me ta do?” I ask.

“We’re going to pull out the knife, but I need you to put pressure on the wound while Crutchie wraps it.” Davey instructs, his voice surprisingly steady.

“Okay.” I ready my hands, knowing that Albert will cry out for sure when I apply pressure. “Ya sure this is a good idea?” I ask, glancing over at Race.

“Unless you want Albert to die.” Davey says bluntly.

“Point taken.” I reply, putting my hands on Albert’s shoulder. Davey nods at me, and I start to push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know basically nothing about the human body i've been doing research about stab wounds and such so if i mess anything up in future chapters please tell me


	16. Albert's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this update is so late this chapter took me literally forever to write

I’m dead.

That’s all I know.

How could I not be dead?

If you add my three days of torture in the Refuge with getting strangled, whipped, and stabbed, that would equal death.

But why does death hurt so much?

Everything around me is just a black void, not quite what I expected, but still believable for death I suppose.

I’m still in so much pain though.

My back is on fire, my shoulder has been consumed by the devil, my head has been cut open my a thousand axes, every inch of my body is being stabbed by needles, an endless wave of pain crashing down upon my body.

I didn’t think death was this painful.

 

Wait, there’s a light now.

A small pinprick of light, gradually growing larger.

I’ve heard people talk about a light before. I guess I am dead, or very close to it.

The nearly blinding light surrounds me, covering the dark void in a white glow.

And then I see me.

Which is odd.

I’m just a baby, my mother cradling me in her arms.

My father is there too.

I’m eating with my parents, there hasn’t been food on the table in ages.

My father is screaming, slamming the door to our small apartment.

My mother is yelling, slurs and insults raining down upon me.

She’s hitting me now, and it’s odd seeing the scene from above. I remember it so vividly, it’s odd seeing myself cowering on the floor, sobbing into my arms.

I’m at the distribution center now, buying papes for the first time.

My mother is kicking me out onto the streets.

I’m setting up my new bunk at the Lodging House, the bed above Race’s.

I’m in the Refuge.

I’m back at the Lodging House, living there again.

The strike.

Race finally admitting his relationship with Spot.

Spot telling us about Race.

Getting abducted.

Those three days of torture, all leading up to right now.

I see myself lying down on a bunk at the Lodging House, Crutchie, Davey, and Spot are all leaning over me. Spot is pressing down on my shoulder.

It hurts so much.

I want to scream in pain, beg for an end, but it feels like my mouth is sewn shut. Davey is pulling out the knife, Crutchie is hastily wrapping bandages around me, and God it hurts like hell.

It’s not even really me, it’s a ghost of me, a body on a bed, but I can feel it all.

I’m floating in the void, watching it all happen from above, and I wonder if it’s real or not.

It can’t be.

I’m dead.

Or am I?

No.

I’m definitely not dead.

Death wouldn’t be nearly this painful.

I might be close to death, but I’m not dead yet.

If I were dead Davey wouldn’t be hastily wrapping bandages around my arms and Crutchie wouldn’t be pressing a wet rag to my forehead.

This is too confusing.

I try to think back to what Specs told me to do when things get overwhelming.

Find five things around you that you can see.

Okay, that seems easy enough.

I can do this.

Race is a bed away, Jack is talking to him.

Spot and Specs, two people you would never expect to be friends are hovering a few feet away from Race’s bed.

Is Spot… crying?

I can see the rest of the Lodging House now.

One floor up, Henry is crying into Buttons’ shoulder.

JoJo is praying by the window.

Mike is bouncing Les up and down in his lap.

Ike is getting Boots to climb down from the top of a bunk.

Great, I can see.

I can see pain and sadness, fear and anxiety.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to be swept off of the Earth because then I would lose all of the people that matter most to me.

Death might bring a temporary end to the pain, but nothing is permanent.

Not even in death.

I want to live.

I want to return to my body and tell everyone that I'm fine, that they can stop crying.

But I'm not fine.

I’m stuck in this stupid void, and all I can do is stare down at myself from above.

The me that is also not fine, the me that is bleeding out and unconscious.

 

I feel a hand on my shoulder, so naturally I turn around.

The Lodging House is gone.

The void is gone.

I’m in my old apartment.

My mother is standing in front of me.

I’m starting to wish for death again.


	17. Race

I’m awake.   


I think.   


I blink a few times and see Jack sitting on the ground next to my bed.   


A bed!   


I’m at the Lodging House!   


There’s Spot in the corner, talking to Specs.   


I’m not awake.   


Why would Spot be talking to Specs?

They haven’t met, as far as I know.

I must be dreaming.

I still want Spot though.   


“Spot!” I call, but my sore throat doesn’t give me much volume, and I immediately break into a coughing fit.

Am I awake?

I don’t normally cough in my dreams.

Maybe I am awake.   


I try again.   


“Spot!” More coughing. More pain.   


“Racer! Oh God, Racer.” Spot is here now, Jack is moving away.   


“I miss you.” I say.   


“I know, I missed you too.” Spot is holding my hand now, and it feels nice.   


“I want to see you.” I say longingly.   


“I’m right here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”   


“No, for real. In real life. Not just in a dream.”   


I’m dreaming, right?   


“Racer, this is real. I’m right here.” Spot squeezes my hand, and his hand is so warm I want to keep holding it forever.   


“Promise?” I ask, still not quite trusting my current perception of reality.   


“Promise.” Spot says, pressing his lips onto mine.   


It’s so different from all of our other kisses.   


This is soft and gentle, full of warmth and care.   


It’s so different when compared to every kiss before, passionate and needy, full of longing and lust.   


We pull away slowly, and I want nothing more than to feel the warmth of Spot’s body against mine.   


But I suppose there are other things to focus on now.   


“Is Albert okay?” I ask.   


“He’s asleep. Crutchie and Davey were able to patch him up for the most part, but he still needs stitches in his shoulder and bandages on his back. His wrist is sprained and he’s lost a lot of blood, but other than that we’re expecting him to pull through.” Spot says, his voice a bit hesitant.   


I don’t know how to reply.   


Albert, my best friend, my brother, who was willing to sacrifice his own life to save mine, is dying only a bed away from me.   


And it’s my fault.   


“Here, Race, drink this.” Jack says, pushing a cup towards me. “It’s water, you’re dehydrated.”   


I take the cup, but find it shaking violently.   


Spot puts his hands over mine to steady it.   


“C’mon, Race.” Spot says softly, a voice I rarely hear from him.   


I put the metal to my lips and manage a few small gulps, but even the smallest amount of liquid makes me want to vomit.   


“I can’t.” I choke out.   


“You gotta, you don’t wanna pass out again.” Spot insists.   


“No, I-” I’m coughing again, and it’s blood this time.   


My vision is red.   


I can hear cursing, but it sounds fuzzy and far away.   


My chest is closing in on itself, the pain is too much.   


My whole world is made of blood, I feel like I’m in the Refuge all over again.   


“Racer, stay calm.”   


Oh how I would love to tell Spot that he’s the one who needs to stay calm.   


Coughing I can handle.   


Blood I can handle.   


It’s the memories that I can’t.

That’s what’s destroying me, the memories, not the blood, not the pain.   


“Hold my hand?” I say between coughs and spurts of the sickly red substance.   


“Of course.” Spot says, clutching my hand tighter in his.   


I can see a bit better now, being with Spot helps I think.   


Jack is rushing over with a towel, but I wave him away.   


Blood I can handle.   


Memories I can’t.   


“Race, you should-”   


“I can talk to Jack later. Right now I want you.”

“Race, I think-”

“I don’t want to think.”

“You’ll have to eventually.”

“I don’t want to!” I somehow manage a shout, regardless of the burning in my throat.

“I get that it hurts, but-”

“You don’t get it, Spot! It doesn’t hurt! I can’t feel a single fucking thing! Seein’ Jack, that’s what hurts! ‘Cause Snyder’s still out there, ain’t he? He’s still out there, an’ we’re all right here!”

“Race, ya gotta-”

“I don’t gotta do nothin’!” I try to sit up, wanting to get out, but my head protests with a sharp shock of pain. “He ain’t givin’ up, Spotty! He’s gonna come, an’ he’s gonna kill me! God, Spot, I don’t wanna die!” I reach out my arms for Spot, I need the comfort of his body next to mine, but my arms pass through air.

Where’s Spot?

I’m not in the Lodging House anymore, I’m in a room full of red.

“You didn’t think escaping me would be that easy, did ya?” A voice from behind me sneers.

I whip around and shrink at the sight of Snyder looming over me, laughing in my face.

I just want Spot.


	18. Katherine's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit of filler before we get back into the deeper stuff again

Being told that you’ve done all you can do is the most frustrating thing in the world.

Darcy keeps telling me I’ve done all I can, but I want to do more.

I want to do more than hand the police evidence and wait for results.

And then it comes to me: I can.

It’s not too late yet, if I act fast I might be able to find who I need to find tonight. I have to make a lot of calls, but I eventually find a doctor who is willing to make a house call after normal working hours.

I wonder if I’m too late though.

I rent a carriage so the trip will be faster, but it still seems like hours later when I reach the Lodging House. I wait outside for about five minutes before Dr. Jones arrives, and I’m practically shaking with anxiety when we step inside.

“Ace!” Jack says, embracing me in a friendly hug when I enter the common room on the ground floor of the Lodging House. There are two cots set up in the center of the room, and I see Spot leaning over one while Crutchie, Davey, and Specs are standing next to the second one.

“Jack.” I say, trying to keep my words from coming out too fast. “I really hope you don’t mind, but I brought a friend of mine to take a look at Race and Albert.”

“Ace, we can’t afford-"

“Don’t worry about that, Jack. I’ll pay him.” I insist.

“But-"

“No buts.” I cross my arms.

“Fine.” Jack sighs, glancing over at the beds.

“Good. Now let me introduce you to Dr. Jones.” I let Dr. Jones step forward, and Jack takes his hand (thank goodness he doesn’t spit in it first).

“A pleasure, Jack.” Dr. Jones says.

“I guess ya should look at Al first, he’s the one I’se most worried about.” Jack says. He and Dr. Jones continue talking as they go to Albert’s bed, and I feel so useless.

All I can do is stand in the corner and watch.

I’m tired of doing all I can.

I want to do more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not super proud of this chapter,,,
> 
> please let me know what you think! i thrive off of comments!


	19. Crutchie's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a month writing is hard

I hover nervously as the doctor examines Albert. The doctor checks his heartbeat and bandages some of the cuts we missed, and all I can do is watch and hope Albert doesn’t wake up.

Because there’s a difference between waking up and waking up screaming.

I keep wanting to push the doctor’s hand away from my friend, nervous that the lightest touch could hurt him.

“He’ll need stitches.” The doctor says, finally stepping away from Albert’s still sleeping body.

“I can do that.” Specs offers, albeit a bit meekly.

“Alright then.” The doctor nods. “The wound will take quite a bit of time to heal, so he’ll have to be careful not to rip the stitches.”

“That should be okay. We jus’ gotta make sure he ain’t workin’ ‘imself too hard sellin’ papes.” Jack comments.

“There’s one more thing.” The doctor looks down at the floor, and it’s a social cue I know well.

He’s about to deliver bad news.

“He might not be able to use his arm again.”

I don’t know why this is what breaks me, but I know I have to get out.

I adjust my crutch under my arm and leave the room, leave the Lodging House.

I sit on the front steps of the Lodging House, letting the cold night breeze wash over me.

My throat is tight, and I have to swallow back tears.

I can’t cry.

Albert is going to live, that’s all that matters.

And yet I still find hot tears sliding down my cheeks and my hands are shaking.

Snyder took everything from us.

And yet that still wasn’t fucking enough for him.

He had to come back and scatter the ashes that were only just starting to reform.

“It’s all my fault, Charlie.” Jack says morosely, sitting down next to me and leaning his head on my shoulder. “All my fault.”

I feel something drop onto my shirt, and I note that Jack is crying too.

Not a common occurrence.

“How’s he gonna sell wit’ one arm?” Jack asks hopelessly.

“How do I sell with a bum leg?” I ask, still trying to make a joke through my cracked sobs.

“Your excellent poisonality.” Jack smiles a bit, and I take comfort in that.

“How did all of this happen?” I ask after a beat of silence.

“I dunno, Char.”

“I-I’ve been gettin’ nightmares again.” I admit.

“Me too.”

Neither of us says anything else after that, not just because there’s not much more to say, but also because both of sound so… broken.

“D’ya still think ‘bout Santa Fe?” I ask Jack.

“Of course.” He scoffs. Jus’ leavin’ everythin’ behind, all the problems an’ pain, an’ deadlines.”

“Leavin’ everythin’ but me.” I say, nudging him.

“Course I wouldn’t leave ya behind!” We’re both smiling a bit now, our tears mostly dry.

“Jus’ us an’ the sun.” I sigh, kissing Jack on the cheek.

“Yeah…” Jack’s smile fades a bit as he looks out at the dimly lit street.

“Jackie, it ain’t ya fault. Snyder-he was gonna come after ya anyways. He went through Race an’ Al ta do that, but ya really couldn’ta changed that.”

“Why couldn’t he jus’ have taken me?” Jack exclaims, his voice rising up with emotion. “He coulda killed me! He shoulda!”

“Do ya really wish he had killed ya?”

“Better than ‘im takin’ Race an’ Al!”

“D’ya-”

“Spot!” Race’s scream is loud, and Jack bolts up immediately.

“Shit!” He runs his hand through his hair and sprints back into the Lodging House.

I watch as Jack shuts the door and can hear more shouts from inside.

I sit on the stoop, putting my head in my hands and letting drops of rain fall on my back.

Of course it’s raining, why the fuck wouldn’t it be?   


The sky is crying, just like every other newsie is tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> albert is next chapter!


	20. Albert's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took forever!

“Mom?” I can’t believe it’s her.   


I never thought I’d see my mother again.   


Should I be happy?   


Well technically, yeah.   


She’s my mother.   


But also no.   


Because she has caused me so much pain, both physical and emotional, scars that have stayed with me to this day.   


“Christopher.”   


I wince at my given name, the one I gave up years ago.   


Christopher was my father’s name, and it’s never felt right. When I became a newsie all I had to do was lie and say my name was Albert, and the same worked when I got sent to the Refuge as a kid.   


No one but my mother knows my real name.   


Well no, not real name.   


Given name.   


“My name is Albert.” I say through clenched teeth.

I can’t let my mother do the same thing as before.

Making me doubt my every word, regret every sentence I say.

Her twisted manipulation.   


“Still living that lie, are you?” She asks, sounding bored.   


“Why are you here?” I ask tightly.   


“Because you’re too much of an idiot to live past 16.”   


“I’m...dead?”   


“Not yet.”   


Good news? Bad news? I’m not sure.   


“Then why are you here?”   


“Are you still that stupid?” She raises her hand to me now, and I wince, preparing for the strike.   


How is it that one single hit can hurt so much worse than three days full of nothing but hits?   


I cry out in pain, and I cradle my now surely red cheek.   


“You’re weak.” She spits out the insult at me, and I slump my posture a bit.   


I feel like I’m 13 again, second guessing every action, wary of every touch, knowing I’m a useless failure but unable to fix myself.   


“I’m sorry.” I say, keeping my eyes down.   


“As if that fixes anything.” She scoffs. “You’ve always been a coward, Christopher. Even when you pretend like you’re not, you still are.”   


“I know.” I stammer.   


“Is that all you have to say? ‘I know’? You deserve this, you absolute-”   


I can’t hear her words over my own screams.   


My shoulder is once again howling in pain, and I collapse onto my knees.   


My old apartment is gone, and I’m in the Refuge.   


Snyder laughs at me and his knife is coming towards my face, but I’m not in the Refuge anymore, I’m in newsies square, and there are cops everywhere, and one is coming towards me, bat raised, and my throat is raw from screaming, and my father is slamming the door a thousand times, and Race is on the floor, crying for Spot, and Jack is standing there, laughing, and Henry is calling me things that I’ve heard a thousand times, but why is it so much worse coming from his mouth?

The pain in my shoulder is receding, but now the problem is my back, why is that?

It’s because I can see it all laid out before me again, Race slumped over, barely holding himself together, Spot and my brothers unsure of what to do, Jack, just standing there, begging for Snyder to stop, and Snyder, standing behind me, his belt coming down on me yet again, his laughs matching my screams.

I want an end to the pain, an end to the memories and nightmares and people.

A light.

An outstretched hand.

I gratefully take the offered hand, hoping for it to take me anywhere where pain doesn’t exist, but it pulls me sharply back into reality.

Or at least what I think is reality.

“Specs…?” I ask, blinking a few times. I can see his circular framed glasses, but other than that, Specs is just a fuzzy blob.

“Al, you’se awake!”

Why is he shouting?

“Loud.” I wince, closing my eyes again.

“Sorry.” He says this quieter, and even though it still sounds like a dozen hammers slamming against a brick wall it hurts my ringing ears a bit less.

“Where am I?”

Why is my voice so scratchy?

“The Lodging House. You’se alive, Al, you’se safe, you’se okay.”

“Alive?”

The word feels strange in my mouth, I’ve been expecting death for quite a while now.

“Yeah, alive.”

“How?”

“Ya pulled through, Al. It’s alright.” Specs assures me.

How hurt am I? I seem to remember being stabbed, and there’s no way I could be ‘alright’ after that.

Injury assessment time!

Everything seems to be the same as in the Refuge, on fire, so I guess that’s a constant in my life.

Except for my right arm.

I can’t feel it.

I can’t lift it.

That’s not good.

I try to level my breathing, try to tell myself it’s just in so much pain that there’s no more pain, but it feels like everything is falling apart again.

“Arm.” I choke out, my voice high.

“Al, you-” That’s Davey, I think, I can tell because of his height. “Arm.”

“What?”

His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear any words escaping his lips.

Why can’t I hear?

I’m scared.

Being alive is scarier than death, why is that?

Because when you’re dead, nothing is real.

You’re just dead.

When you’re alive, anything can be real, but anything can be fake too.

For instance, I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating right now. I don’t think I am, but if I’m not that’s bad.

Because there’s a man I don’t recognize arguing with Spot next to Race’s bed.

Or at least I can assume that’s Race, laying there among the blood stained sheets.

Who’s the man?

I can’t let him hurt Race.

Race is my brother, and I’ve gotten this far protecting him as best as I can.

“Don’t touch ‘im!” I try to sit up, but my head reels and hands are pushing me back down. “No! Let ‘im go!” I shove the hands away and stand up.

I have to get to Race.

I have to help him.

I have to protect him.

“Race!”

I strain against the people holding me back, trying to free myself from their grasp.

“Let go of me, ya stupid fucks!” I shout.

I can’t let Snyder win.

I can’t let the Delanceys hold me still like a good little boy while Race gets hurt.

“Fuck you!” I scream in one last desperate attempt.

And then the ground comes towards my face and everything is black again.


	21. Spot's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's some disaster spot (although honestly this whole fic is a disaster)

I don’t get scared. I’m Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn, I’m known throughout New York as the toughest newsie around. So I'm definitely not scared of talking to people, especially not the Manhattan newsie with glasses. Sure he's tall, but that's no reason to freak out. I've soaked guys twice his size. I'm definitely not crying. I don't start to lose it when Race shoves me away and Jack starts talking to him. I don't feel a pang in my heart when Specs, who I don't even know and doesn't know me, puts an arm around my shoulders and tells me that everything is going to be alright. I don't tell him I'm worried about Race, I don't tell him how much I care about Race and how much I missed seeing him.

I don’t get scared. I’m Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn, I’m known throughout New York as the toughest newsie around.  So I’m definitely not scared for Race. I’m definitely not suspicious of the doctor that Katherine brought in. I’m definitely not concerned when said doctor breaks the news about Albert. I’m definitely not worried when Crutchie and Jack run out of the room. I’m definitely not trying to hold back tears when the doctor starts talking about nerves and muscles and a bunch of medical shit like that.

“Spot.” Specs puts a hand on my shoulder. “Doctor Jones wants to check on Race, if that’s alright.”

“R-right. Yeah.” My voice is definitely not shaking.

And so the doctor walks over.

I look down nervously at Race. He stopped thrashing around about ten minutes ago, just before the doctor showed up, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing. He keeps muttering, and he flinches whenever anyone tries to touch him.

“Um, excuse me.” The doctor says.

“Sorry.” I hesitantly step back and let the doctor step up to Race’s bunk.

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” The doctor notes.

“No shit.” I say, crossing my arms.

Everyone in the room glares at me, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“He ain’t had food or water in a week. We tried ya get ‘im ta drink a bit, but he jus’ started coughin’ up blood. Then he-" I nearly choke on my next words. “He started thrashin’ around, shoutin’ things.”

“I would guess that would be dehydration induced hallucinations.”

“Seein’ things that ain’t there.” I sum up.

“Yes. And I also suspect he has a fever as well.” The doctor leans down to touch his forehead, probably to check his temperature.

“Spot!” Race’s shout is loud, and it comes as soon as the doctor’s hand comes into contact with his skin.

“Get the fuck away from him!” I say, trying to push the doctor away.

“I don’t care who you are, I just want to help your friend!” The doctor stands firm, not budging.

“He’s been to hell and back, and-"

“What happened?” Jack is storming in now, like that’ll do any good.

“Don’t touch ‘im!” Albert is awake apparently, and trying to get up. “No! Let ‘im go!” He pushes away Specs and Davey, who are trying to keep him in bed, and storms over. “Race!” His face is shining with tears. Specs and Davey grab his arms, trying to hold him back. He looks like he’s about to attack the doctor, or maybe even me. “Let go of me, ya stupid fucks!” He screams. “Fuck you!”

Albert wrenches his arms away from Specs and Davey, and stumbles forward one step before faceplanting on the floor.

“Al-" Davey reaches down to lift him up, but one of Albert’s flailing arms smacks him on the leg.

“Albert! Don’t hurt him too! Don’t! Please!” Race is screaming now too.

My head hurts, my head hurts so much.

I just want Race to be alright, I want everything to be normal again.

I’m scared.

I’m scared everything will be different.

I’m scared Race thinks this is my fault.

I’m scared that Race will never love me again.

I'm scared that Race will never be the same again.

I’m scared of the blood.

I’m scared of being helpless.

I’m scared of being weak.

I’m scared of my own feelings.

I’m scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is gonna be inside the mind of race


	22. Race's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year! a new chapter!

I’m back.

I’m back in the Refuge, Spot is gone, Jack is gone, everything I thought I had is gone.

The walls are red, my hands are covered in blood.

Snyder is glaring down at me, I feel so goddamn small.

“You can’t do this!” I shout, my voice high and weak.

“I can do whatever the hell I want!” Snyder roars back.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Revenge.” He growls, his voice low and rough.

“For what?” I ask desperately.

“My entire life and career ruined by you useless newsies!”

“You ruined it yourself!” I shoot back.

“Hold your tongue!”

“Why should I?”

Snyder only leers at me, and I look past him and see why.

Jack, his wrists cuffed, suspending him above the ground, his own shouts for help racking his body.

Albert, unconscious on the floor, gagged and bleeding out of a million different cuts.

And Spot.

Snyder has a gun pressed to Spot’s head, his finger on the trigger.

I’ve never seen Spot scared before, and his tear stained face scares me.

“Race, please!” He begs.

“You did this!” I can’t tell if the yell comes from Snyder or Spot, but the next thing I know there’s a bang and Spot is on the floor, covered in blood.

“Spot!” I scream, my voice tight.

Spot’s face is contorted in pain, and as he screams curses at Snyder and pleas to me as he writhes in agony on the floor.

“No! Stop!” I try to run to Spot, I need him to be alright, but there are suddenly ropes holding me back. “Please!” I shout.

Albert’s eyes suddenly snap open, bursting out of unconsciousness, and he screams through his gag.

“Please! Not Al too! Jus’ stop, please!”

I’m on my knees, and all I see before me is my past.

Jack, my older brother, the one I’ve always counted on, weak and helpless.

Albert, my other brother, the one I’ve promised to always protect, trapped and in pain.

And Spot, the only person I’ve ever loved, dying and so far away.

I can’t take it.

I can’t take any of it.

All the pain, all the suffering, the torture and anguish.

Why can’t my life be normal and happy?

Why can’t my brothers be safe, why can’t I be with Spot forever?

Why does Snyder hate me?

Why does my head hurt?

Why am I coughing again?

Why is there so much blood!

**_Why_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so i know it's still super angsty right now but next chapter things are gonna start looking up. thank you for all of your wonderful comments, and thank you for continuing to read!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments or kudos! :)


End file.
